7 of 11The Jensen on a lift as it receives some minor repairs to keep it road-worthy.

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8 of 11One of many dirty fuel filters attempting to keep the Jensen running.

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9 of 11A fuel leak just inches above the muffler.

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10 of 11A shredded tire of the Datsun. A little overdue for a change.

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11 of 11Both the Jensen and Datsun outside a Phillips 66 station along the road.

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Day Five

You'll remember from Part One of our saga that we left off with our Datsun being loaded onto a flatbed because of a fuel-system issue.

While loading the Datsun 280Z onto the trailer, the gentleman sent out by the tow company reported a puff of smoke and a popping noise from the electrical box that controlled the hydraulic system tasked with lowering and raising the trailer. When it happened, I was inside the service station finishing Part One. I was summoned by the Hagerty Insurance team and asked to take a look at the trailer. After several attempts to jump or bypass a couple of solenoids on the control unit, I began hatching another plan.

Because of concerns about liability--both mine and Hagerty's--I cannot detail exactly how I solved the problem. Suffice it to say that it involved a somewhat-precariously placed floor jack, two blocks of wood, a large hammer, jumper cables, a screwdriver and a length of rope. It worked exactly as expected, and the Datsun was spirited away to a repair shop in Albuquerque where a real mechanic got it running.

In half an hour he replaced the points, fixed the injector and completed a couple of other little tasks that I thought I would get to eventually, all at a cost of $80. While I was ashamed at my one failure to keep a car on the road so far, I could still taste PB Blaster in the back of my throat, and so I tried to push the thoughts of what could have been done better or differently out of my mind.

My trip to Albuquerque was a good deal more eventful than that of the Datsun. My suspicion is that some ethanol-laced fuel knocked about four pounds of rust and gunk loose from the Jensen Interceptor's fuel tank. The result was a fuel-starvation breakdown in the middle of a construction site. The construction prevented us from pulling the car off the road, so we just kind of hoped that other drivers would see us in time to avoid us. I changed the cheap, generic fuel filter located on the fuel line and about a foot from the carburetor.

It's worth noting that the carburetor is a newer Weber, and it sits on a homemade wooden adapter.

Anyway, the car fired up and we pressed on to Albuquerque, where I bought half a dozen of the aforementioned generic fuel filters at AutoZone. By the time we arrived at the parts store, the Interceptor was chugging, so I replaced the fuel filter again. It would be the second of four times I replaced the filter on day four.

While we were stopped, I removed the baling wire exhaust hanger that I had made for the Interceptor somewhere along the way and replaced it with a bolt. I also fixed a taillight that had fizzled, but it fizzled again shortly thereafter.

So far on the trip, the three main sources of delays have been at least a dozen breakdowns, lots of photo shoots and some really excellent kibitzing that takes place among my companions whenever there is a decision to be made. Even after almost a week, it's really entertaining to watch.

In Albuquerque, we ate at the Owl Café, which I am sure is a famous attraction. The Mexican food was just above average, but it was quick and we were able to get on the road just before sundown.

Climbing through the hills outside of town, the Interceptor swallowed fuel through a fresh filter and rolled like a storm. But it was not to last, and the fuel filter was soon in need of replacement.

The sight of a Jensen Interceptor on the shoulder of the road was enough to pique the interest of the local gendarmes, who took off as soon as they realized that we were not undocumented immigrants.

Our goal was to make it to Tucumcari, N.M.--one of the best unspoiled Route 66 towns. With a fresh filter, the Jensen again set to getting us there. Even a storm of moths was no match for the Interceptor, and we easily cruised to the Motel Safari where the owner, Richard Tilley, had cold beers waiting for us in the parking lot. We sat and shot the breeze with Richard over a few more beers and talked about his plans to turn the white, plain-Jane 1963.5 Ford Galaxie 500 four-door into a 427-powered sleeper, and his plans to restore the F-100 around the corner.

He and his wife quit their jobs and bought the Motel Safari in 2007. To say that they restored it wouldn't be totally accurate. It's actually more like a good resto-mod, in that the modern amenities are there but they aren't immediately apparent. The rooms are clean and simple in 1950s style and they have cozy beds. The signs that advertise free WiFi and color HDTV at the Safari were painted by hand. They look a lot like newer versions of the signs that advertise direct-dial phones and air conditioning at the many motel relics dotting old Route 66. Richard has big plans to help other people like him restore and refresh old hotels, restaurants and service stations along the route.

Richard started the day by leading us to a local, independently owned mechanic's shop where we had the Interceptor's oil changed. The place had just opened, and it wasn't quite organized but the mechanics were experienced and enthusiastic.

As mentioned in a previous post, the Interceptor's new owner paid for an oil change as part of the prepurchase inspection. But like everything else, the oil change seemed never to have happened. From the outset of the trip, it was black and it smelled burned.

Earlier in day four we had noticed an oil leak. With the car on the lift, the source was apparent. The bolts holding the oil pan to the engine were finger-tight, and the drain plug had been replaced with a plug that was too small for the drain hole. The difference in diameter was compensated for with plenty of Teflon tape, but we were fortunate not to have lost the cap along the way.

The view from below got worse, but the highlight was almost certainly the classic quick fix of the ethanol era--the three inline fuel filters, each from a different car. Watching someone else work on the car was tough for me, so we walked across the street to a local diner.

We finished at the shop and were on the road by 11. Aside from three or four fuel-filter changes, and several photo opportunities staged at various roadside attractions, we were moving right along. I was driving the Datsun, and its rear shocks had gone from questionable to almost dangerous. Over any kind of imperfection, the Z car bounced hard and then wallowed side to side while the driver tried to maintain the car's composure. The car's tires were clearly on their way out as well, but we thought they'd last another few days despite some pretty serious cracking.

We were wrong, and failing to replace the tires was the result of bad judgment on the part of a few seasoned car people--myself included. While I was cruising at 80 mph next to a tractor-trailer, the driver's-side rear tire shed its tread, and I struggled to bring the little car to a safe stop. Surveying the damage, we realized that the tire tread had impacted the fender and dented it badly.

When we realized that the tire was still holding air even with most of the tread torn off, we pulled the car off the main freeway and onto old Route 66, which runs alongside it. The rear hatch held a space-saver spare, but the air can that was meant to inflate it was empty. We drove on at low speed with the old tire until it finally shredded, stranding us next to a feed lot packed full of cows. The smell was almost as bad as the gas-leak smell in the Jensen.

We called ahead to the Hagerty folk in the Jensen, and--after a person who shall remain nameless suggested that someone could simply go pick up a set of tires and bring them to us--they brought us a couple cans of fix-a-flat and we limped to Amarillo, Texas, on the space-saver.

Of course, the tire shop we found had only one set of tires in the Datsun's size, and those cheap, Chinese-made shoes are on the Datsun now.

From Amarillo, we made our way to Clinton, Okla. The only stop on the way was for photos at the U Drop Inn and a steak at Big Vern's Steakhouse, both in Shamrock, Texas.

Despite all of the setbacks, the trip has been an absolutely great time. Keeping the two cars running has been a challenge but the trip is an experience I won't soon forget, and I am glad we're making it with these two old cars.

It's day five, and we've covered 876 miles.

Rory Carroll
- Rory Carroll is a graduate of Michigan State University, a concours d’elegance and vintage-racing hanger-on and a past winner of the Index of Effluency Trophy at the 24 Hours of LeMons.
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